Turn, Turn, Turn...

Yes, to everything there is a season. A time to laugh, a time to cry-

A time to write, a time to be so thoroughly exhausted by the nothingness of everyday that all you can think about is sitting down and closing your eyes for a moment and maybe if you stop breathing through your nose the poopy diaper that needs to be changed will just go away.

NaNoWriMo came to an abrupt stop for me when my husband left the country for the last half of the month of November. We shifted into pure survival mode (and when I say survival mode I mean eating and drinking enough to stay alive. Everything else fell away). I got to about 12,000 words, which is painfully shy of where I thought I'd end up, but 4,000 more words than I got to last year. And the idea developed much more this time. It is a project I will revisit.

Anyway, I've got about as much creativity in my brain as.... see, I can't even think of a good analogy. No creativity.

So I'm not going to pretend anymore. Instead of leaving all 2 of my faithful readers with the impression that I just might update the blog, I will officially go on hiatus until after this baby is born and I'm sleeping more than 3 hours a night. I will be sure to post when the blessed event occurs, just to keep y'all in my loop. Expect that in January.

When I do return, hoodie donned and rarin' to go, you can expect me to become an active part of the community again, like the good old days.

Until then, my friends, this is not goodbye. Just "until we meet again."

And for those of you morbid enough to care, I leave you with a photo of my current state-

Slow and steady.... what does it do again?

Well, here we are almost two weeks into NaNoWriMo. The bad news is that I'm almost hopelessly behind at just over 10k words. The good news, I'm sticking to it and making whatever progress I can. And, amazingly, I haven't given up that I can still make the final word count. I'll just have to write like a crazy person a few days to get caught up. We'll see.

In the comment section of my last post Beth said she can't imagine anything I write sucking. While I find that a thrilling compliment, I can assure you that not only can I write stuff that sucks, I'm quite adept at it. I'm not kidding. There was one point where I honestly wasn't sure what the main character should do next and I was exhausted. So the MC watched Oprah, ate cold cereal and took a nap. BORING. But it got me to the word count I wanted that day.

However, I've written at least one scene that gets me excited, so WOOT for that.

A famous author once wrote that you have at least a million words of garbage to write before anything truly wonderful comes out. I don't know if that's entirely true, but I get what he's saying. 990,000 to go! :)

Kickin' It at the Kick Off

One of my children's favorite DVDs is about a boy who is saving all of his money for weeks to buy new computer chips for his fighter robot. The more chips, the more power. He goes to the store to stare longingly at the display window, dragging his best friend along. His friend protests the pointless trips as he is not nearly so enamored with the robot games. The boy wanting the new chips pleads with his friend in a Vader-ish voice, "Come now, give in to the dork side."

This is kind of how I felt this past weekend. The NaNoWriMo kick off party in my area was so close to my house I felt guilty about the thought of not attending. Plus there was going to be pizza. When I pictured the types of people who might be there I wasn't really envisioning other people "like me." I let my mental picture be completely stereotypical. I won't tell you what I was picturing, but I will tell you that I went and found that my stereotype was almost completely correct. But you know what? I just went along with it and gave into my own dork side. I had a pretty good time. I didn't meet any lifelong friends, but it was fun to feel a part of something. And I won a door prize. Probably the best thing I took from it was how everyone really really had low expectations of what they could churn out in a month and it was OKAY. That was what stopped me cold last year. I couldn't believe how crappy it was. But this year I'm wading through the crap and just enjoying myself. Low and behold, I'm almost 5k into it on the third day.

I just might do it!

Happy Halloween Everyone!

We generally don't get into Halloween all that much, but since the kids are getting older we're trying to make sure we have some fun traditions at this holiday time. We try to accentuate the fun and the silly rather than the scary. We don't really like scary at our house.

And of course, any excuse to have candy is okay by me. Do any of you have any fun Halloween traditions besides the standard pumpkin carving and Trick-or-Treating?

I must be insane

I'm sorry. I don't write. When I don't write I don't blog. Right now, I grow. And growing seems to be enough.

But I'm changing all that. My husband is leaving the country for half of November and I'm terrified. As it is I'm barely keeping daily life flowing. So, heck, why not add NaNoWriMo to the To Do list while I'm solely responsible for 2.5 kids and a home?

At least I'm excited about something.

If I write anything that isn't crap, I'll share.

Good luck, fellow WriMos.

Corner Rounder

I've got myself a tool

In my little box for crafts

It takes the ugly points

Off paperscraps and photographs

For on the page and in your art

It's roundness that you want

With polka dots and curlyQs

And softly scripted font

The curves and waves and rounded lace

Are beautiful to see

So why do I feel so ugly

Now someone's corner rounded me!

13 years

Today is the Anniversary. The one that slaps me in the face with memories. She was my friend, she was my niece, but she could have been my sister. She was almost 15. I was 16. It was my first experience with death.

I'd watched the cancer suck her away bit by bit for four years. First her hand, then her breasts, small and budding as they were, then, finally, her lungs. She was always so delicate to begin with, but with that coy smile and the thick chestnut hair she'd never cut in her life until the chemo started. The cancer made her more fragile, like a pristine doll, her long fingernails her one grasp on beauty.

As children she laughed shyly at my jokes and giggled at our dress up play. We meticulously taught each other how to recreate our most prized artistic creations. We always slept in the same bed during visits.

While she was sick, my parents planned our hospital visits around when I would be sure to come, though I didn't know that at the time. She languished in her strange bed, but she listened and watched me and I tried to laugh. I began to mourn long before she passed.

I always believed she would live. She endured so much during the four years of her fight that I was sure she'd always come out on top. She was doing well, even dancing again and attending school, when we got the call to make the five hour drive as quickly as possible.

I didn't realize how close death was hovering. Her lips were dark beneath her oxygen mask, her eyes rolling in her head. I held her hand, waiting for her to notice I was there. I was alone with her for about 15 minutes, stroking those long nails and listening to her staggered breath. My pain was present, but isolated somewhere beyond me. I waited for her to show some comprehension before I told her I loved her, that she was my friend.

She began to struggle and I left the room in fear, calling for my sister. I went outside. My dad was showing my nephew how to shoot a BB gun. 5 minutes. When I went back inside everyone was crying, saying "At least she's not in pain anymore." My pain still lingered outside myself. I knew it was there, but I couldn't touch it. I'd been the last one before her mother to be with her before she passed.

I went in to see her. There she was, just where I'd left her, but she wasn't there anymore. That was clear. I expected her to look peaceful. She just looked dead. It took a while to cry. When the pain finally came gushing in, I thought it would never go away.

She taught me about death. She made me realize that I really do believe that I'll see her again. I don't mourn for her, but for those she left. I mourn for my sister, who might have had grandbabies by now.

She would be nearing her 28th birthday today. With every year the woman I am and the girl she was grow further apart, but I truly know in my heart that she is accomplishing something great just beyond my sight. She is a beautiful soul. She is my Moriah.

Girl Power

Today I fell in love. It was the strangest thing. What was before such a huge burden finally feels like a blessing.

I saw my baby on ultrasound today, which is also my pregnancy hump day (fitting name). I saw my little girl. Her femur, her spine and all four chambers of her little heart were absolutely beautiful. Today the pregnancy stopped being about me and started being about her. I am finally excited.

I'm having a baby girl!

I feel exhilarated. And on the writing side, I've made it a goal to write every day again. I'd left all my passions alone for awhile. Something inside me is waking up.

I'm trying to be back

Have you given up on me yet? I don't blame you. I've almost given up on myself. Heaven help me, this summer has been a difficult one. I'm still in the nausea zone, but definitely functioning at a higher level. I'm almost 16 weeks along in my pregnancy, which is generally the cutoff point, so I'm crossing my fingers that by this time next week I'll be in the clear.

So I haven't been doing much. Not even writing because I'm just not feeling it. But I have been reading... a lot. I had the opportunity of reading a book by a relative of my husbands. It's her first published novel and it was cool to see her last name on the spine (since it is also my last name). She has been a High School English teacher for many years.

While I generally enjoyed the book, she committed what, to me, has always been a fiction writing faux pas. I was surprised when she skipped from one point of view to another willy nilly. I was always taught that if you are going to change point of view there needs to be, at the very least, a break in the text and works most effectively at chapter breaks. I'll give you an example. This is just me making something up, but it represents the kind of things I read in her book.

"Susan watched Bob from afar as he blew the hair from his eyes with a crooked smile. She knew he couldn't possibly be interested in her, but hadn't he been making eye contact with her all evening? His gaze met hers once more and she immediately looked away, feeling her cheeks flush. Her hands flew to her mouth, then retracted as she consciously kept herself from chewing her nails. He was definitely looking at her. She knew his reputation, but couldn't help the fact that his blue eyes made her heart race. Why would he possibly be paying any attention to her? Bob knew that he was making this girl flustered and he enjoyed it. He'd been eyeing her secretly for weeks. His friends would never let him live it down if they knew how much he dug her. What they couldn't know was that he had more in mind than just romance."

That was just some nonsense I just spewed, but it illustrates what I'm talking about.

So, what do you think? Are there hard set rules that really should never be broken in fiction, or does artistic license trump all?

Public Enema No.1

***Yes, this is actually a post about my first experience with an enema***

***Gentle Reader, proceed at your own risk***

I took a completely unintentional hiatus there, but assure you that I'm alive and kicking (well, something's kicking). The fog of first trimester nausea, while not gone, has begun to lift so that I may once again view the world around me. I will tell you - It has sucked. I also regret having missed one of Jason's contests. Next time. Next time.

I had a milestone experience over the weekend. We were visiting family and I was so excited to be somewhere other than my couch for the first time in months. But while the social outlet was finally flowing, something else was not. Without my realizing it, four factors had come into play at once-

1. I'm pregnant, ere go, I'm constipated.

2. The anti-nausea medication I take also makes me constipated.

3. I had run out of the fiber pills I'd been taking daily, not realizing just how much good they must have doing me.

4. I had resumed taking prenatal vitamins since the waning nausea helped me keep them down. I'd forgotten they're packed full of iron, which, unfortunately, can cause constipation.

Since being a little backed up has been been a fact of life for the past few months, I did have some suppositories on hand for times of extreme cloggedness. But they were at my house over the weekend. 100 miles away.

Saturday I started counting-1..2.. hey it's been at least four days since I've had any BM action. No wonder I don't feel so good down there. So I decided to just try. And try I did. For a very long time. After 30 minutes all I had succeeded in producing was red toilet paper. But now I was feeling very dire. I'd got the thing to the door and it was staying there. I needed help. Right away. I sent DH to the grocery store. "No laxatives, no suppositories. I need an enema."

Minutes later, product in hand, I headed to the bathroom. I wasn't scared until I read the directions. The illustrations alone were enough to keep a 12 year old boy cackling for days. But I diligently followed the guidelines and waited until "the urge to evacuate was strong." This did not take long. Less than a minute.

What happened next, well, it was excruciating. I was already sore from previous attempts, but this was no joke. I was in it. Gut wrenching spasms had me panting and clenching. And then, Augustus Gloop was stuck in the chamber, the pressure building, building, building behind him. It was so painful. And then he was set free. Voila. I'd given birth to a soup can.

I can say that the only thing more traumatic that has ever happened to my nether regions was actual childbirth. My poor muscles hurt for hours. It was awful.

Lesson learned. Take the fiber. Take the fiber. Take the fiber.

Viper

Insidious

The viper coils low in my stomach

Releasing its poison

In a slow-burn

Growing, Consuming

Succumbing, I grovel and bow

Strike

Strike

Strike

Strike

Moist skin against cold tile

The serpent sleeps

But the poison burns

The poison burns

Delicacy 101

Okay folks, on the pregnancy front I am feeling like absolute CRAP, but I've got a dr. appointment on Tuesday and I'm crossing my fingers about a new "miracle" drug that has become available since my last pregnancy that is supposed to make the nausea subside. I'll keep you posted. Right now I'm keeping down about 30% of my total intake of nutrients. We are telling some family this weekend, so maybe that will feel...rewarding/exciting/fun?

I need some advice about something else though. We have lived in this house for almost two months now. This is a very close knit "everybody knows everybody" neighborhood. Our next door neighbor has a little girl the same age as my little girl and they play together quite often. Sounds great, right? Well, I'm becoming more and more concerned with the situation. Especially since I've been ill, I confided in this neighbor that I probably would not be inviting her daughter over much this summer because I'm feeling so poorly. To be honest I'm thrilled with that prospect. I did not enjoy her presence. Now this little girl invites my little girl (and subsequently my younger son) over almost every day. They think they're helping me out. Normally I would consider this quite helpful, but this family- I don't know how to describe them without sounding extremely judgmental. Oh well. They are dirty. My kids come home crying almost every time either because they've been physically hurt or got hurt feelings. There is no discipline, no boundaries and it's becoming apparent that there is no supervision. This concerns me considerably. My son is 2. My daughter is 5. They come home dirty and unhappy and sometimes violent after playing with this little girl. A little girl who shows up at my door wearing a swimsuit, cowboy boots and mittens. A little girl, who at any random time of day, might be found standing conspicuously in my backyard with her hands down her pants.

The mother insists that she's happy to have them over. I'm sure she does! It lets her off the hook. I have no idea what she is doing while my kids are over there, but I'm not the kind of person to accuse her of being negligent to her face.

So what do I do? I'd rather have my kids here, bored out of their minds while Mommy is comatose on the couch than play with this little girl. But the relationship has been established. I can't avoid these people. They go to my church, they live just a few yards away, they come over every single day.

I'm worried about my kids. It's the first time I've been uncomfortable with the thought of having them in the care of someone else. What do I do?

My New Best Friend

Holy Crap.

The test is positive.

I'm in shock.

Who Shall Mourn the Mourning Dove?

The imprint of death

The lonely corpse, scavenged by ants

The crazy thing is, this couldn't be a case of Windex Syndrome. My blinds were closed.

Crazy Kamikaze Bird.

Characters with Faces

I've been feeling excited about the book lately and to help me visualize the characters I wasted entirely too much time surfing the net looking for photos of my cast. The kids watched PBS. This is so much fun for me. I also did about 2 hours of research on locations and logistics. Part of my book happens in Santa Barbara and I've decided I'm just going to have to go there to get a real feel for it. :) We'll see about that.

I actually don't plan on doing a lot of extensive physical description. A bit here and there, for guidance. But I think it's cool when the reader forms their own picture. These pictures were chosen for expression as much as anything and to help me picture them as I write.

Anyway, meet my characters:

The main character, Derek, definitely shares some features with Cillian Murphy. The dark hair and blue, heavy-lidded eyes makes him a bit of an enigma. He is attractive, but with a certain melancholy to his face. However, Derek looks more Polynesian (way less Irish), so I liked this photo as well. Kind of a Polynesian Hayden Christiansen.


When I saw this photo I KNEW it was Derek's love interest, Tali. Gorgeous, but with self-possessed intelligence. The kind of girl who is beautiful, but unconcerned about it.

Tali's father (who yet remains unnamed) plays a crucial role in the story. He is large and kind and just happens to need a few tattoos. (Although he doesn't dance with fire or wear traditional Polynesian clothing)

Derek's mother, though absent for much of the story, plays one of the most pivotal roles. She was one of the first that solidified in my mind. Her hair has always been the forefront physical feature in my mind. She is gentle but very strong-willed and the wisest of all the characters (besides the blue whale, but we won't get into that). Yes, Diana Ross in this picture is the very essence of Jenel. (Though Jenel wears no makeup)

Antonio Banderes without the accent makes a great Rork, Derek's father.

Stevan is my antagonist. He is very charismatic and handsome and his features must be strong, but he is power-hungry and cruel. Dark hair is a must. I don't know who to base him after. Any suggestions?

Winner

The winner of last week's contest is....

Aine!!

I had my unbiased hubby pull the name from a basket.

So Aine, let me know if you want the book, Ender's Game, or the $5 at Amazon.

Thanks to those who answered. Those were some great picks.

Tagged

Struggling Writer tagged me for the Random 7 meme. You all know how it goes, I'm sure. I post 7 random/weird things about myself.

1. I have the pointiest tongue of anyone I've ever met. It's like a skewer.

2. Even in my youth running has always been difficult for me. I just seem to get exhausted before everyone else. After having an EKG done last fall my doctor suspects I have a thickened heart wall, which makes my heart have to pump harder to keep oxygenated blood flowing. Knowing this new limitation is validating and I'm now training (slowly) for a 5K. This is a huge deal for me. Yesterday it took me 48 minutes to do 3 miles, 25 of which I spent running.

3. I broke my leg when I was three, my shoulder in 3rd grade, my arm in 4th grade and my wrist in 5th grade. All through the 6th grade we kept our fingers crossed and I did actually end up in the emergency room for what we thought was another broken bone. Moral of the story? Drink your milk, kids.

4. When I was 17 I was in a play and on closing night it was pouring rain. A huge puddle had formed in the parking lot of my school and my friends and I played in it until we soaked through. Then I realized I had to take my friend and myself home. To avoid soaking my car seats we stripped down to our underwear. The moisture from our bodies made the car fog up and it was raining so hard I couldn't see the lines on the road. I wasn't sure if I was more afraid of getting in an accident or getting pulled over while wearing nothing but see-through underwear. Luckily, I did neither, but it was a nerve-wrecking drive.

5. I have auditioned for American Idol twice.

6. I brush my teeth in bed almost every night. I never rinse after brushing my teeth because I like to keep the fluoride on them, so it has sort of evolved that my husband brings me my toothbrush in bed while he's brushing his own teeth.

7. In 1999 my best friend won the MTV show called Say What Karaoke. For part of his prize he got to go the Y2K MTV party with a guest and he took me. This photo is from the MTV archives. I'm the girl on the front row who looks like she just heard a good joke. I think I was thinking (Holy Crap, Christina Aguilera is RIGHT THERE.) I also touched Gwen Stefani's shoes that night and the shirts of all the members of Blink 182. Good times.

Also, this is your last day to post a comment on the next post to be entered for the prize! I'm not tagging anyone, but if you think this meme is fun then do it. (I think it's fun.)

I'm BA-aack!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

First of all, yesterday was my birthday. As many of you know, my sweet sweet man compiled a book of tributes, memories, compliments, etc. from my family and friends. All in all he was able to get 64 individual contributors! I was especially touched that he took to the time to seek out some of my blogger writing buddies. Thank you to those who included your thoughts and well wishes. It was the most amazing gift I've ever been given. What a superb day. I wish I could bottle that feeling. I need a bumper sticker that says "My Man is Sweeter than Your Man."

We're in. The house is put together and we are finally feeling normal again. Soooo, that means Hoodie's back in business. I'm having honest to goodness withdrawals. I miss my associations in the blogosphere and my creative juices have gone rancid with no outlet. My NaNoWriMo book which was pushed even further back than just the back burner has been niggling its way back into my mind, with fresh ideas in tow, and I find myself feeling excited about returning to that project. I've got some plotting to do, but leaving the idea to stew a while has been beneficial.

So, to celebrate my return, I'm having a contest. It's very easy. In the comment section leave me your answer to this question.

If you had only one fiction book to lend to family and friends, what would it be AND WHY?

My answer would be Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. I really like Science Fiction, but have a hard time with hardcore SciFi that seems to focus more on the Sci than the Fi. Heinlen and Asimov are too much for me, no matter how hard I try to enjoy them. I'm always drawn to character stories over idea or milieu stories. Of all the books I've ever read, this is the one I come back to over and over again. Card's writing style appeals to me greatly. There are some of his books I like more than others, but I've enjoyed them all. He has an ability to interject humanity into the most outrageous of circumstances. It really draws me in.

So, if you leave me a comment with your answer by this Friday, May 2 at 7 PM, you will be entered in a drawing. Winner comes away with your choice of a spankin' new paperback copy of Ender's Game or $5 at Amazon.

Okay, GO!

Bloggers!

My family of four (1/2 of which is 5 or under) have been living in one bedroom in my sister's basement for three weeks. (Add up all the numbers in that sentence and get a prize!) We've endured an array of viral illnesses during that time and my insomnia has come in like a lion (much like the entire month of March here; A fresh layer of snow arrived last night).

However, if life really is a highway then we have left the orange cones behind and set the cruise to a comfortable speed. We found a house and will be in it in less than two weeks. My sister and her family are out of town, which decreases the stress levels in the house and all the hard parts of the moving process are over. I'm really looking forward to our new location which will be 5 miles from DH's office and .5 miles from the elementary school.

If you've not seen a comment from me on your blog, however, it's not my fault. My sister has internet controls set and if content requirements are not met, I can't access certain sites. Chris, Jaye, Vanilla, Minx and others, I shave my finger with my other finger at you.

Two little weeks, baby. I can't wait.

Pack It Up

Well, first I'm thrilled to have landed fifth place in Jason's recent contest. What a confidence booster.

Now the real fun begins. Today is packing day. I'm surrounded by mounds of boxes, moving supplies and piles of stuff that leave me wondering, "what the heck do I do with this?"

So, until I've found myself another house (we'll be living with family for a couple of weeks) I don't really plan on posting. I will have computer access, so I'll try to visit y'all. But consider me officially on hiatus.

So I leave you with a question to fill your days with ponderings until our next contact:

What do you consider your best training for writing? Where have you honed your skills? School? Critique groups? I want to know what has had the biggest impact on your learning to write. Feel free to expound liberally.

I did it.

With all the shanigans and goings on (read sucky moving) I was in possession of enough brain cells to throw together an entry for the contest. My posting will admittedly be sparse for the next month or so, but don't write me off completely. I'll still visit ya'll now and then and I promise to get back in the swing when I'm no longer homeless. :)

9 days on the market. We're feeling very very blessed.

Now I can focus on packing and moving.

And entering Jason's contest.

News That Moves Me

I'm sorry to have been absent.

Remember this post?

Answers have come forward. It's actually pretty funny.

My husband had been looking at a job possibility and we had told some local friends about it. We know them through church and they knew us well enough to know that taking a new job and moving far away is something that we would consult God about through prayer. Our clever little friend sent the letter in an effort to humorously cast a vote about whether we would take the job or stick around. He just did such a good job that I didn't consider it to be them. Once we found out it was their doing the letter went from strange to quite hilarious.

Alas, however, my husband was offered this job and we have decided to take it. Right now he works in public accounting which anyone familiar with the field will tell you is a high stress/many hours job. It's not all that family friendly. So he has taken a job with a private company 900+ miles away. Fewer hours, more money and much closer to our families. It's pretty win/win.

However, they need him right away. So he will begin work there in two weeks and the kids and I will move out two weeks after that. In the past few days it's been a mad scramble to get the house on the market, get it showable and take care of many many details so that all will sail smoothly in a few weeks. We are excited and stressed. The job will be great, but the transition makes me a little nervous.

I shall try not to leave you postless.

A Day From…

Eyes are open
But there is no light
The sky is rippled with the colors of shadow
And despair
The journey of one moon has brought with it
The Underworld
Superimposed on my own

Brimstone of ice
Scorching cold
Wind’s fierce breath in my hair
Searing my skin
His coarse groan whispering in my ear

Ghosts of ice
Misty mignons across my path
The bottom-feeders of Hell
Float in their onward dance
For souls to claim
Wanderers with malicious intent

Fractured grass
Frozen in its brittle pain
Pushes through rough ice
The world awash with death

Out of sight in the haze and fog
The devil himself plays among skeletal trees
Whipping Wind into an angry frenzy
Grinding Temperature into submission
Until suffering is universal

This day

January 29
Belongs to Hell

What The...

We got this letter in the mail today. We are completely perplexed. I originally scanned it, but the file was huge and it had my last name on it (gasp!) so I'll just type it up for you.


Prayer Answering Service, LLC
PO Box (number)
Omaha NE (zip)

Date: January 20, 2008



Dear Mr. and Mrs. (Hoodie)

Thank you for your recent multiple requests through our service. Sometimes it can be difficult to make big life-changing decisions and fortunately our business operates with the intention to help individuals and families who find themselves in situations such as your own.

We have taken into consideration all of the facts, circumstances, and intangibles and have decided to answer your prayer in the following manner:

YES

NO X

If you have any further needs, questions, or complaints please direct them through our customer service department that is open all the time.

Sincerely,
(completely illegible scribble)
Clerk # 51




What do you make of this?

Lost and Found

Ever find money in a pair of pants or a coat pocket? Awesome feeling right?

I found something even cooler. I put on a jacket I hadn't worn for a while and inside one of the pockets was a folded up piece of paper. After reading its contents, I was able to remember writing this weird little snippet in my daughters notebook and then ripping it out and putting it in my pocket so no one else would find it. I don't really remember what sparked this or where I was going with it, but I vaguely recall thinking it stunk, which is probably why I didn't continue it. Anyway, I thought I'd share, in it's completely unedited version, this short little piece of fiction from days gone by.

(Untitled)

A lady knows how to get what she wants. A gentlemen knows how to give it to her. The words didn't stray far from the girls scarlet lips as she repeated them continuously, pacing under the lattice work of limbs from the tree. Shiny curls bounced against porcelain cheeks as the long grass flattened beneath chunky heels.

"Even the greatest fool would have seen the choice was clearly carrot cake," she sputtered, subconsciously smoothing her blouse. A crystalline tear caught the hazy sunlight as she stopped and stared imploringly at the trunk of the tree. "How could he do that to me?" she wondered aloud. "I mean, cheesecake?" Her arms folded across an ample bosom as a betrayed bottom lip spilled outward.

The sun grazed the distant fields as she continued her dignified pout. Then, resolutely she pulled out a slim pocketknife, hilt in ivory, and carved a precise line next to others on the trunk and stomped off, determined the number 33 was the gentlemen she was after.

The Answer!

I asked you all to guess which of the five pictures in the post below was me.

Here were the voting results:

#1 - 1 vote

#2 - 0 votes (what, nobody thinks I'm a veterinarian?)

#3 - 2 votes

#4 - 3 votes

#5 - 2 votes

I found all these pictures by googling my first name. The four that aren't me I've never met.

So, I'm not as old as the lady in the first picture, though when I am I hope to look that good. She doesn't really look old at all, but she is clearly older than me.

You all are right than I'm not a veterinarian or a vet's assistant.

I'm not blonde, although I've dyed my hair so many times I'm not sure what the exact shade of my natural color is. A mousy brown, methinks.

And lastly, I don't wear heavy eye makeup and regrettably find myself achingly far from any beaches. Though that girl's blonde streak is similar to something I'm sporting right now.

Yes, I am indeed number 4. Part of me regrets revealing what I look like, dashing the mystery I was becoming comfortable in. But I know how much I like knowing others and felt it was time to offer a little more of myself to my limited, yet oh-so-loyal, readers.

Y'all are my friends.

And friends should know each other.

This photo was taken at my husband's company Christmas party where I was named reigning karaoke queen and my husband and I were dubbed best dance couple. It was a good night.

Under the Hood

Sometimes after I read a book I look at the picture of the author on the cover and think, "yeah, that's exactly what I thought they'd look like." Other times, the picture is nothing like the mental picture I'd developed.

Funny how the simple choice and construction of words on a page (or screen) can give you a subconscious picture of what someone may or may not look like.

Here's a little fun for y'all.

I'm coming unveiled. Sort of.

Let's have a vote. All of these people have the same first name. Which one is me?

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

On the writing front, I've got nothing for you right now.

That makes me sad.

I'm not writing much lately. My world is filled with runny noses, dirty diapers, juice spills, bubble baths, laundry mountains, sippy cups, macaroni and cheese, crackers in the carpet, story reading, floors that need sweeping, sheets that need changed, Candyland, Thomas the Tank Engine, Strawberry Shortcake, booster seats, mittens, Did you brush your teeth?, Don't sit on your brother's head!, No more books in the toilet!, the clean-up song, etc. etc. etc.

I feel like any creativity I may posses is shriveled like the balloon that we got free at Applebees two weeks ago but we are aren't allowed to throw away upon threat of a full blown fist-pounding tantrum. We CAN'T throw it away Mom. It still has some some air in it.

What do you do to keep your idea nets out there and your writing brain functioning when real life seems to require more brains cells than you currently posses?